Renegade Rupture (23 page)

“ALL YOUR POWER! ALL OF IT, BACKA! SO HELP ME, IF YOU DON’T, YOU WILL GET THE THRASHING OF YOUR LIFE!” Karasan screamed. The elephant ran even faster, becoming a blue blur as it moved at the green energy without hindrance.

The crowd held its breath at the impact. An explosion of energy threw the Renegade team right off their feet. Gisbo, Whip, and even Perry tumbled all about and felt themselves pinned against the arena wall just below the front row. They felt the air ripped out of their lungs as they stood, still and straight as pencils, powerless to move until the spiraling energies lost their hold. Gisbo managed to keep one eye open, and what he saw, through the energy storm, was magnificent to behold.

A bird, no bigger than a breadbox, held its own with a creature the size of a shed as the little thing fought to protect not its master, but fellow partner and companion.

Like a whip itself, the elephant tried to strike at Moordin with her trunk, only to be met by a screech as Norse used its own aura-protected body to deflect each strike, throwing the beast’s trunk back farther and farther each time, until the beast was unbalanced just enough for Norse to go on the attack. It opened its beak and fired a thin, green jolt straight at the beast’s weakened knee.

The beast’s support gave way with a fierce crack, allowing gravity to be the true victor as the elephant collapsed with a pained shriek, all its power leaving it. The energy storm stopped, and the Renegades dropped to their knees, catching their breath.

Moordin ran to the downed elephant that lolled all about, thrashing its feet and crying with pain, flapping its mighty ears. Moordin leapt upon the broken knee and held it tight to him.

“Easy now, easy now, the fight’s over. All will be well,” Moordin said, looking the giant beast in the eye. It calmed down as Moordin stitched the knee back together with a Naforian healing ability, only meant for Boons, and within moments, the knee was healed and stronger than before. Moordin stood up, admiring his work as the elephant got to its feet and walked in a circle, its limp gone. Moordin looked up at it, smiled, and reached out to pet its trunk.

“I only wish your pain stops here, friend,” Moordin said, running his hand along the hundreds of white scars. Suddenly, there was the sound of a whip striking. The elephant squealed in pain, and together, she and Moordin shared a look. Moordin, with his Naforian ability to understand animals, heard Backa say two words.

“I’m sorry.”

The elephant struck Moordin’s right shoulder with all its weight. Moordin felt something tear and he went down hard, just barely placing his hands in front of him so his face wouldn’t careen off the stone floor.

“IDIOT! The nerve of you, such weakness! Healing my pathetic tool? The match is over when it’s called over! I heard Narroway give no such order! And now, you’ll pay. Sentimentalism has no place upon the battlefield; that’s why the Strifes will survive, always survive, and the Renegades will be lost, bled out by their own tender hearts,” Karasan screamed. “BACKA! BEHIND YOU!”

With a fierce, blind strike, Backa spun to strike the descending hawk, hitting its fragile frame. Moordin had just enough time to have Norse thrust all her remaining energy into preventing a fatal blow, but not enough to give it a safe landing. Norse fell and bounced. Moordin winced as he heard her thin bones break and skid across the stone floor, its wing now unnaturally bent and battered behind its head as it thrashed about, squawking and spraying loose, bloody feathers all about.

“NORSE! NORSE, I . . .” Moordin started, but the elephant’s trunk came down upon him. He had been whipped before, but never like this. It felt like someone was beating him with a rubber hose. With every strike, he felt bones push into places they shouldn’t and organs bouncing off things they never were supposed to as he coughed up blood with each strike.

“YES! YES! BEAT HIM ‘TIL HE DOESN’T MOVE! END HIS LIFE! END IT!” Karasan screamed.

The world around Moordin began to fade, growing darker with each strike. He was about to let the darkness come when he saw it. His little Norse, crawling forward, dragging her body toward him just by its beak alone. Their eyes met.

“Don’t . . . please, lay down, girl, please,” Moordin said.

Norse didn’t say a thing as she continued to drag hersel forward in a series of little clicks, digging its beak into the cracks and grooves of the arena floor to pull itself forward.

“You’ve done enough, just stop, lay down!” Moordin said.

“I’m calling it. This match goes to . . .” Narroway started.

“NO! Look there! The bird still moves! As long as it moves, you will do nothing! Backa! Slay it! Kill it now! CRUSH IT!” Karasan yelled. The elephant stopped and looked at the bird, then at Karasan.

“Are you really going to pull this now? OBEY ME!” Karasan screamed, striking out with his whip, striking the beast just above its right eye. The elephant squealed as its eye sputtered and fluttered furiously with pain, but still it stood its ground as the little bird moved closer and closer.

“Backa, why do you obey him?” Moordin asked. The elephant looked upon him, surprised by the question.

“DON’T LISTEN TO HIM!” Karasan screamed as he let loose with another whip lash. “CRUSH THAT BIRD!”

Moordin saw a tear drip from the elephant’s eye.

“I have no choice,”
Backa said.

“There’s always a choice,” Moordin said. Norse reached the elephant and bit into its toe, giving all it had left to defend its partner.

“Why, why do you do this?”
Backa asked the bird.

“He’s my best and most loyal friend. It is better to die knowing I gave my all to protect him, then to disgrace him when it mattered,”
Norse said.

“I have to kill you. I have no choice,”
Backa said.

“I don’t believe that,” Norse said.

“What?”
Backa asked.

“There’s always a choice,”
Norse said.

“KILL IT! KILL IT NOW!” Karasan screamed, striking the elephant across its rear again, this time spilling blood. The elephant looked down at the bird and lifted its massive foot above it.

“Do it, prove to me you have no choice,”
Norse said.

The elephant dropped its foot with thunderous force upon the ground.

Right beside Norse.

“I choose to end this,”
Backa said.

The elephant was struck with the last whip strike of its life. It spun about, flapping its ears like wings, and charged its master, wrapping its trunk around him like a boa constrictor and lifting him high into the air. Backa threw him to the floor and whipped Karasan ‘til he no longer moved. Upon finishing, the elephant layed down upon the floor, and stood still, feigning defeat. Narroway gave the order, and together, the Renegades joined Moordin upon the ring and carried both warriors, animal and human alike, back for some well-deserved rest, as Backa, free, stormed out of the arena and toward the forests of Heaven’ Shelter, waiting for a soul more worthy of her.

Chapter Sixteen:
Creatures of the Night

Whip Miles stood, already worn out from experiencing Moordin’s battle with his super senses and sonar. As others watched the epic battle, Whip witnessed what no one else could perceive. Moordin the moody, as he was so frequently called, was anything but. The young Renegade was beside himself with awe at Moordin’s sheer resolve and passion. Whip could feel Moordin’s dedication in the air, taste his spent adrenaline, and knew that the man had left nothing behind upon the ring. As the match concluded and the air returned to normal, Whip Miles had only one thought.

“I . . . I want that,” Whip said. He turned to Perry. “Perry.”

“Yes?” Perry asked, turning to look down at him, but needing to look up instead. The boy had grown in the past two years, and Perry never got used to that. “You seem perturbed.”

“Believe me, I am. I need to know something, right now, something that has bothered me since the war for Flaria,” Whip said.

“Best hurry,” Perry said.

“I want that, what Moordin has. The way he fought . . . It was as if he didn’t have doubts. Nothing held him back, there was no fear of death. How, how can I be like that?” Whip asked.

“By discovering your resolve, your reason for fighting,” Perry said.

“I figured you’d say something like that. For Moordin to fight with justice, he KNEW he was in the right. It all goes back to what morality is, and if there is a higher power or not,” Whip said.

“That’s some deep water you’re treading in. Must we talk about this right now?” Perry started.

“Yes, yes, we have to, because I could go out there and fight and die, without a purpose or a reason. I want both! I want what Moordin has and I know, I know I’m just so close!” Whip said. “When we spoke last time in class, you said to us that there is IAM, who is good, and Appolyon, who is evil,” Whip said.

“That’s a simple way of putting things, but sure, that is indeed what I believe,” Perry said.

“Is, is evil stronger? It seems to be sometimes,” Whip asked. “You said that both IAM and Appolyon were the creations of something bigger, the Nameless One. Does that make them equal in power?”

“You sure picked a time for this,” Perry said.

“And then there’s the Strifes themselves. I’ve heard that they aren’t evil, only misguided. Here’s my conclusion. Your view, about two gods of equal power, the brothers, IAM the good, and Appolyon the evil, simply cannot work. No one does something evil just for evil’s sake. They do it for pleasure or personal gain. Pleasure in itself is not wrong, and neither is self-improvement or personal gain. So evil, all of it, is not some opposite power, like you told us in class. Evil is only the pursuit of good done in the wrong way. You can be good for the sake of being good, but for being bad? It can’t be done, unless you are absolutely insane and reality isn’t a factor for you. Badness, or evil, I think, is simply spoiled or misguided good. Like the Strifes, they want order and balance, but go about it the wrong way. That, in my eyes, makes them evil.

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, sir, of what you taught us; I’m just trying to work through this on my own steam. I cannot see myself fighting or killing on such simple terms! Isn’t that what being a Renegade is all about?” Whip asked. Perry stared at Whip for a long moment before answering.

“Whip, I became a teacher for moments like these. It goes to show how one can be set in their beliefs, even me. Ask around Heaven’s Shelter. That’s the beauty of this place. Free will and free belief is accepted and respected, but to withhold it, afraid to step on each other’s toes, we do not only withold ourselves, but do humanity a disservice. A truth is out there, but unless we keep an open mind, bring our beliefs to the table respectfully, humanity stays stagnant. I’ve never looked at life in the way you perceive it. I think you have answered your own question. Are you at peace?” Perry asked.

“It’s, it’s more than that. I know what I have to do now. I understand my motives,” Whip said.

“And what might they be?” Perry asked.

“To stop Strife ideology at every turn I get,” Whip said.

“You just may have your chance,” Perry said as he made his way to the arena, die in hand. Lamik and Perry rolled, Perry landing a three and Lamik a two. Perry once again passed the decision to Lamik. In no time, a new fighter, stride in stride with his Boon, made his way to the arena.

“Whip, I leave this one to you,” Perry said.

“On it,” Whip said as he strutted into the ring, not walking or moving as if he were blind whatsoever. “And Perry, thank you, thank you for teaching me to question everything, even you,”

Perry smiled and watched his student step into the ring.

“So, not to question you, Perry, I know you’re all up in that Mind-Link o’ yours with our mutually smart buddies. Why send a blind flyer against a flyer with incredible, if not the best, vision among the animal kingdom? It goes without saying that a bat’s natural enemy is the owl. Again, I know you have your reasoning, but you’re not even going to answer me, are you?” Dave asked.

“No,” Perry said.

“You’d figure I’d learn at my age. Well, better get comfortable,” Dave said as he sat upon the grass, slowly, with a grunt, and breathed out a large, satisfied breath as he leaned against his slumbering bear. Dave looked to his right, then his left, and lifted up Slumby’s gut to reveal a bag of peanuts and a metal flask. Perry looked at him.

“What?” Dave asked, popping off the top. Perry only shook his head.

Meanwhile, Whip felt out his opponent. He smelled the air, recognized a slight, powdery musk. The man before him was clean, very much so, which usually meant cautiousness and an attention to detail.

Whip clicked with the corner of his mouth, inaudible to the normal ear, and got a quick, sonar image of his opponent. He was tall, thin, someone who preferred training within libraries rather than the battlefield, which only meant trouble when it came to a Boon battle. Anything could happen, and Whip was quick not to presume anything of his opponent. Stewie would be doing the fighting, but his opponent most certainly could send his Boon after him as well.